


Best of Kisses and Best of Snuggles

by kyaasnow



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Childhood, Fluff, Gen, M/M, the Most Innocent Type of Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyaasnow/pseuds/kyaasnow
Summary: *Written for Kamome: A Viktor Zine.Viktor has a few fond memories of being adored.





	Best of Kisses and Best of Snuggles

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the piece I wrote that was included with the Kamome zine -- a Soft Viktor collection! If you got the zine, I hope you loved all the art and writing! I'm so so grateful to have been part of such a beautiful project. If you weren't able to get the zine, be sure to visit Kamome's social media pages where they're sharing everyone's work. It's SO VERY soft and SO VERY beautiful. Everything about this zine heals my heart.
> 
> And this is my contribution! Hope you enjoy.
> 
> P.S. I'm on Twitter as kyaa_snow and Tumblr as kyaasnow.

Viktor was not a shy child.  He liked being the center of attention.  Talking to strangers, putting on a show—it was fun for him.  But right now, the skating rink was so _big_.  There were so _many_ people.  And the blades on the skates his parents had rented him felt too thin, like he would fall over at any moment.  He had, actually, when he first stood up after his father tied the laces. Mama had caught him, and someone nearby had laughed, and Viktor couldn’t help but assume they were laughing at him.

“Mama,” Viktor said quietly as they stood by the entrance to the rink.  He tugged at his hat.

“Don’t do that, Vitenka,” Mama said.  She pulled his hat back up so it rested on his forehead.  “You can’t see if your hat is covering your eyes!”

She offered her hand.  Viktor took it, but did not move when she stepped forward.  He wobbled on his skates, burrowing his face in his scarf as his mother turned back to him.

“Come on, my sweet,” she told him.  “Mama and Papa have got you. Skating is fun.”

He shook his head and clung to his mother’s leg.  There were too many people on the ice. Wouldn’t they watch him?  He would probably fall. It would probably hurt. He rubbed at his bottom, anticipating the pain of crashing to the ice.  Maybe he was too young to skate. Most other kids here were a little older. Viktor was only three—perhaps he could convince his parents to bring him back next year?

“Ah-ah,” Mama sang.  “I see your little mind working.”

“It will be fine, Vitenka,” Papa said, coming up beside him to take his other hand.  He smiled that huge, happy grin that always made Viktor feel better. “Just come out with us for a few minutes.  And if you don’t like it, we’ll come back out and have hot chocolate. How is that?”

Viktor hesitated just a moment longer, before nodding his head jerkily.  And then with his mother on one side and his father on the other, Viktor stepped onto the ice for the first time.

He slipped a little at first, heart jumping into his throat before his father steadied him with a big hand on his back.

“I’m scared!” Viktor cried.  Tears welled in his eyes, obscuring his vision as they threatened to fall.  “Mama!”

“You’re doing fine, Vitenka.”  Mama sank down till she was almost eye-level with him.  She stroked the short silver hairs that stuck out from his scarf.  “Just keep holding onto Mama and Papa. Let’s just try a little, hm?”

Viktor wanted to wipe his tears away, but couldn’t bring himself to give up his death grip on his parents’ hands.  So he pouted, stuck his chin out, and took a deep breath. Mama smiled at this and stood back up. He still felt unstable on the ice, but he quickly realized that if he kept his skates pointing forward, he could be dragged along with his parents.  This was much better, and after a few minutes and some encouraging words from his parents, he was actually smiling.

“Look at you, Vitenka!” Papa exclaimed.  “You’re skating.”

Viktor laughed.  “I’m skating!”

Before he knew it, his family had made one complete turn around the rink.  He whined as his father made to step out of the rink.

“What is it?  You want to keep skating?”

Viktor glanced down at the ice and nodded.  Papa laughed.

They went around twice more, and just as his parents suggested that they take a break and have hot chocolate, Viktor shouted, “Mama!  Papa!”

“Yes, my sweet?”

He sniffled—it was cold on the ice, and his nose was running now, but this was no time to stop and let his mother fuss over him.

“I want to try by myself,” he said.

His parents shared a glance.  Viktor waited in eager anticipation, practically vibrating in his little skates.  They both turned back to him.

“Okay,” Papa said.  “Let’s try.”

They guided him to the center of the rink, where a few other children were skating and some people were spinning.  It looked like they were flying. _I want to fly, too_ , Viktor thought, determined.

His parents settled him between them, and Viktor let go of their hands quickly.  Too quickly, apparently, as he wobbled and fell right onto his bottom. Tears gathered in his eyes again, but then he realized… it didn’t hurt as bad as he had thought it would.

“Whoops,” Papa said with a laugh.  “Good thing you’re so close to the ground already.  Try again, Vitenka.”

They helped him up and then slowly let go.  Viktor stood on his own.

“Mama, I’m doing it!”  He grinned up at his parents.

“Good job.”  She took a step away and then kneeled, stretching out her arms.  “Now, try to come to me. Take slow steps, just like you’re walking.”

Viktor took one step and tumbled over again.  He hardly registered the impact this time, and pushed his father’s hands away just after being helped up.  Biting his lip, Viktor took one step—and then another. His balance was off. Papa’s hands came to steady him, but he let out a shout.

“I can do it by myself,” he declared.

Mama’s arms were still open.  She was just a few steps away.  He took one step and then thought better of it.

“Papa, push me,” he requested.  His father gave him a slight push, and Viktor sailed right into his mother’s embrace.  “I skated, Mama!”

She laughed, swinging Viktor up and hugging him to her.  “You did, my little boy. You’ll be perfect at it in no time.”

Giggling, Viktor turned his cheek to his mother.  She rewarded him with a kiss. He laughed again as his father joined the hug and gave Viktor more smooches.

Here, on the ice, Viktor was the center of his parents’ world.

**

Viktor had to leave for Skate Canada in eight hours, but his nails. Wouldn’t. Dry. He was only half-packed with clothes spilling out of his open suitcase, and he should have gone to bed two hours ago.  But he’d been struck with the idea to paint his nails a nice mauve to go along with his Sugar Plum Fairy costume. And Makkachin kept begging to be pet, so Viktor kept having to pause. And now it was drying too slowly. (“I shouldn’t have put on a third coat, huh, Makkachin?”)

So now Viktor sat on the floor of his dorm room, hair up in a messy bun, watching some old American musical on TV.  Makkachin was resting her head on his knee, far more engrossed in the film than Viktor was.

“Why is it taking so looong, Makkachin,” Viktor whined.  She let out a little whimper, too, which was like a response to Viktor’s own whimpering, but he took it as solidarity all the same.

It would be much easier to dry them if he had a fan, Viktor thought.  But it was November, and nobody in their right mind had a fan around in November in St. Petersburg.  Perhaps he could use his blowdryer… But the last time he had used it on his skin, he’d practically burned himself.

With a heavy sigh, Viktor slumped against his beanbag chair, blowing errant strands of hair out of his eyes.  Wiggled his toes. Started humming along with the song playing on the movie. It really was catchy.

He sat back up, eyes on the television.  It was a love song, that was obvious. Viktor’s English wasn’t perfect yet, but he understood enough to know they were talking about being loved their whole life long.  Completely forgetting about his drying nails, Viktor slid a hand into Makkachin’s fur, completely entranced by the love story on the screen.

“Look at that, Makka,” he breathed.  “Being loved for the rest of your life.”  The more Viktor thought about it, the hotter his cheeks became.  He held his hands to them. “I want someone to fall in love with me.”

As if on cue, Makkachin got up.  She panted excitedly before attacking his face with licks.

“Ah—Makkachin—” Viktor pinched his lips together as she licked up his chin.  She took his exclamations as encouragement and her licking increased in vigor.  He couldn’t help but laugh.

When she appeared to be satisfied, she sat back down and waited for praise.

“Well,” Viktor said with a laugh.  “It’s not the same as being kissed by a handsome man, but it’ll do.”

He snuggled Makkachin until he fell asleep, and then dreamed of kisses.

**

Viktor was running late.  He’d stayed back to help Yurio with the step sequence in his SP, and then stopped at a corner store to pick up some ingredients on his way home.  Yuuri hadn’t texted him yet to ask when he was coming home, but Viktor knew he’d probably be waiting anyway. They never went to bed without the other if they could help it.

He climbed the stairs of the apartment building, warming up with thoughts of Yuuri waiting inside, maybe all snuggly in his sweatpants, cuddling Makkachin on the couch and watching some TV program to practice his Russian.  Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri. How did Viktor even get so lucky? He couldn’t wait to make his surprise for him. To pull Yuuri into another Nikiforov tradition and—

Yuuri was not sitting on the couch when Viktor came in and sang out his arrival.  He was wearing his snuggly sweatpants, yes, but he stood in the kitchen, bent over two mugs.  He glanced up when Viktor came in.

“Just in time.”  Yuuri grinned. “I tried my hand at making something special for you.  Come here.”

Viktor curled himself around his fiance and peered into the mugs.   _Oh, no_.

“It’s Russian hot chocolate!”  Yuuri turned in his arms and beamed at him.  Which did cheer Viktor up… a little bit.

“Yuuri…” Viktor said.  “You ruined my surprise.   _I_ was going to make hot chocolate.”

Yuuri tilted his head.  “Really?”

“Yes.  My parents and I used to do it all the time.  After a day of skating, we’d come home and have hot chocolate together.”  Viktor put on his best pout, but Yuuri, quite familiar with this tactic now, laughed.

“You’re cute.  Can’t it still be special even if I make it?”

Viktor shrugged.

“Well, how about this.”  Yuuri picked up both mugs and handed one to Viktor.  “We’ll take turns. Tonight, I make it. Tomorrow is your turn.  We’ll make our own Katsuki-Nikiforov tradition.”

Viktor followed Yuuri into the living room riding on a cloud of adoration.   _Katsuki-Nikiforov_.  He liked that.

They settled onto the couch, Makkachin making herself comfortable on Yuuri’s other side.  Viktor snuggled into Yuuri’s side, slotting his head right into the warm spot where Yuuri’s neck met his shoulder.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said.  Viktor pulled back to look at him.  “I still like the sentiment even though you didn’t get to make the drink.  Are we okay?”

Viktor smiled.  “I love you,” he said in response.

Yuuri dipped his head down and gave Viktor a sweet, lingering kiss.  And of all the kisses Viktor had received, these... _these_ were the best.


End file.
